A Very Real Fear
by Mad Cow
Summary: It was the worst day of Hank's life, and it was dredging up some painful memories (not finished)


Hank Beecham was having one of the worst days of his life. Hours before screwing up the throw that lost Kingsport the game, which meant they only had a shot at winning the championship if they absolutely creamed Spreewell next week, he had gotten in a big public fight with the girlfriend of the week in the middle of the courtyard. He and Tyler had even exchanged some angry words with each other after the game, and then they had lost a heart attack victim at work. It only made things worse that it was his eighteenth birthday. His mother forgot, the station forgot, and his family in California forgot. Not that they ever remembered, but he thought they should remember his eighteenth of all days.  
Hank threw his book bag down on his bed and went into the kitchen to make dinner. "Mom?" he called to the house, but after a minute, he figured she had left for the weekend to go to some rally or sit-in or something. He checked the calendar on the wall. Yup, there was a rally this weekend. It didn't say what it was. Maybe anti-death penalty or anti-abortion or pro-women's rights or something. She had penciled in the rally, but nowhere in the little box was written "Hank's Birthday".  
Well, that was Melissa Beecham in her truest form. Born to protest, a very vocal activist. Didn't matter what the cause was just as long as she got publicity for doing it. Melissa wanted to change the world, and she didn't care how. That was all that mattered to her. Once the issue was resolved, and she was declared a world-shaking goddess of an activist, she moved on. Present company included.  
Hank went back to the refrigerator, only to find that shopping had been forgotten again. The only things in the cooled chamber were a block of Colby-Jack cheese, a half-drunken carton of milk, and some orange juice.  
Great. As Hank was allergic to milk, that eliminated most of the contents of the fridge. He poured orange juice and opened the pantry. Pasta-Roni's Fettuccine Alfredo (Hank looked at the list of things you needed to add to it. Number 1: 1 1/4 cups of milk. Great.), a bag of Doritos, and some canned cheese ravioli was all that greeted him there.  
He grabbed the Doritos and vowed to go along next time Melissa went shopping. It was just like her to forget. One would think she would remember, as after she had heard that a kid at Hank's school who was allergic to peanuts had a mom that was trying to ban peanut products in the lunchroom, she went on a banning milk products campaign. It only resulted in her losing and embarassing Hank, so maybe that's why she forgot.   
Orange juice and chips in hand, he settled on the couch and wielded the remote. Channel 2, news. Click. Channel 3, golf reruns. Why were they rerunning golf, of all things? Click. Channel 4, more news. Click. Channel 5, a documentary on teenage mothers. Not what Hank wanted to watch while in a brooding mood about his own mother. Very quick-click. A few more clicks, he came to an A&E Biography on Barbara Hutton. He had no idea who she was, but what the hell, the pictures of her when she was young were hot enough.  
Apparently, it wasn't interesting enough, though, because 10 minutes later, orange juice drained and Doritos finished, Hank fell asleep, and with that, his bad day came to an end.  
  
_ c. 1993_  
The newly 9-year old Hank Melfeld threw the baseball to his little brother, who jumped high, but was unable to catch it. Hank emitted a child-like sigh as Andy settled back down on the grass, and the other team cheered as their runner rounded the bases. Hank took off his glove, and trotted dutifully to the line he was supposed to file into so he could give the other team a high five.   
10-and-under baseball leagues. Sportmanship at its best. Really.  
The ritualistic exchange of skin contact complete, he was approached by his younger brother. "I'm sorry, Hank," said the smaller Melfeld, but Hank only reached out a hand to tussle the blonde boy's hair.   
"It's OK," he said. "We'll beat them next time. And until then, I'll help you practice." By that time, Hank had been joined by his parents, who rewarded their boys with hugs and compliments on what they did well. Mistakes went unmentioned.  
Hank and Andy set off, sans parents, for the customary after-game orange soda that could be retrieved at the concession stand. Hank noticed a boy on the other team staring at him and his brother as they went, so Hank walked right up to the other boy.  
"Hi," he greeted. "I'm Hank, and this is my brother, Andy," he explained.  
"Were those your parents?" asked the boy, and Hank nodded. The boy merely gave the pair a strange look and walked away. Hank shrugged it off. He was used to it. Most people gave him strange looks when Hank said the Melfelds were his parents. They were, after all, white, and Hank, well, Hank was not. It didn't really matter to him what color they were, just that they loved him, just like they loved their real son, Andy. Even if most people thought it was a little on the strange side.  
He rejoined his parents and they piled into the car. "Melissa is going to be joining us at dinner tonight, Hank," said Mom. Andy cheered. Not because Hank's biological mom would be there, but because Hank had chosen Chuckie Cheese's for his birthday dinner.   
Not that Hank was especially a fan of pizza. He didn't know what it tasted like with cheese, but cheeseless, like he had to have it, it was nothing special. But the great thing about Chuckie Cheese's was that it was not about the pizza. It was about the games, of course. He and Andy were both prepared for a night of fun. And Mom and Dad had brought along Tylenol, so everyone was set. They stopped at Aunt Julie and Uncle Alan's house to pick up them and their daughter, Sandra, who was 11.  
They pulled into the parking lot, only to see Melissa Beecham leaning against the building, smoking a cigarette. The 26-year old woman extinguished it when she saw the minivan pull in, and walked to meet them. Hank bolted out of the car, and enwrapped her in a hug as soon as it came to a stop.  
Many kids who were adopted constantly wondered what their biological parents were like. Hank was one of the few who didn't have to. For his mom, at least (he had been informed that he was not missing much by not knowing his real father). His mom lived in Virginia, but she flew out to California to see him every birthday and Christmas, and a couple other times during the year. She always had lots of neat presents, so Hank could excuse the fact that she always inisted on taking lots of pictures.   
"You've grown!" she said to him, and Hank smiled.   
"I'm nine now!" he informed her, and she hugged him even closer.  
"I know. I _was_ there when you were born, remember?" Hank smiled again, and Mom and Dad approached as well.   
"Hello, Melissa," said Mom, and even Hank thought it was a little strained. Hank knew that his parents were grateful for Melissa signing over custody to them, but that didn't mean they always got along too well. "Over the phone, you said that you had something important to tell us tonight."   
Melissa nodded, and hugged Hank again before looking down at him. "Yes, I do. How would you like to live with me all the time, Hank?"  
  
_  
  
  
Author's notes: This story was inspired by my cousin Anthony, his current situation, and my fears for what it could lead to. I hope that this chapter and all that follow never happen to him, because I love him very very much! We may not be related by blood, but we're related by love!  
Also, thanks to one of the best BETA readers the world over, the marvelous Maureen! I really appreciate everything you've done to help me with this fic, and I don't have any money to pay you, so I suppose a public thank you and a hug will have to suffice, yes? *hug*  
The allergic to milk thing was a shout out to Brian, who is the sexiest man alive *grin*, and coincidentally, allergic to milk. According to him, there is a difference between being allergic to milk and being lactose intolerant (Though he has not told me what it is yet). And plus, it made you feel really sorry for Hank, didn't it?_


End file.
